Some Nights
by Wryder A
Summary: The only time Ed ever contacts them or comes home is when his automail needs repair. This usually means he isn't in the best of conditions, either. So who can blame Winry for trying to reassure herself that he'll always be there? Edwin oneshot, filled with fluffy goodness, with a dash of angst and humor for flavor.


**More EdWin fluff. Angst. Angstfluff. And kissing. It's more angst if you set it in the 2003 series, more fluff if you read it in a Brotherhood context. And a dash of humor at the end!**

**I was having problems with the tenses, so apologies if there are still mistakes.**

**Also, I'm open to requests. Send me one in a review.****  
**

* * *

There it was, looming at the end of the wall. Ten feet forward, three feet wide, six and a half feet tall. She walked by it every day when she woke, but somehow the light of night made it seem more ominous. One foot moved forward, but hesitated an inch above the smooth wood of the floor.

"I can't." The whisper was hardly audible, just above the silence.

But her foot starts to move anyway.

Within moments, she was standing in front of the door.

There's nothing special about the door. In place since the birth of the house, the strong, oak frame stood a witness of years past, children born, parents dead, families both made and destroyed. Now, it tended to stand unused, a daily reminder of the quest the brothers had set off on years ago. The entryway sheltered the only sanctuary the Elrics had left, and although they insisted that it was a 'guest room only so stop bugging us about leaving stuff here and stop calling it ours okay', they were the only ones who ever entered the room.

Until now.

Her hand stalled over the doorknob for an instant, before gripping the frigid metal and turning it slower then what should be possible. And, suddenly, the object of her best dreams and worst nightmares was lain out before her.

Mouth gaping open, hand spread open on stomach, leg thrown haphazardly off the edge of the bed, (made all the more dangerous with one arm gone and one leg scrap). It was a position she had memorized from years of sleepovers and early morning trips to the now burned house and the horrible year after automail surgery when she spent almost six months solid at his side. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell, a reassuring movement that she paced her steps to until she sat next to him.

Bandages on his upper arm were the first things to draw her attention away from the familiar face. A frown dug into her face as she studied the white fabric. Without warning, she found herself talking to the darkness.

"You never call. Or write. Or anything, really. And when you do show up, it's because you're beat and bloody and need repairs."

Winry paused for a few moments, the sound of nothing pressing heavily into her ears.

"I don't know what I expect, really. It's just… I'm scared. I'm scared that one day, I'll pick up the phone, and…" A lump began to form in Winry's throat. "And it'll be like my parents, only worse. And I can't handle that." All attempts at holding back any emotion began to fail. "I can't."

Winry's tears broke free of her blockade and poured down her face, staining the sheets below her head. One hand slowly made its way forward, as if to touch the comatose boy, but then moved back. "I'm sorry," she hiccuped. "I'd never say this during the day…"

Once the tears had left, there wasn't much reason to stay, beyond usual creeping. The chair creaked as she stood up. Casting one last look at the boy on the bed, she turned for the door.

"Wait."

All attempts to keep silent ended as Winry squeaked and slipped to the floor. "Ed!"

For indeed it was. Ed was now sitting up, one armed, with the expertise only an amputee can have.

"How much of that did you hear?" Winry asked, mortified.

Silently, Ed stood, took a moment to balance on the unfamiliar leg, then offered his only hand out to her. Cautiously, as if the hand would burn her, she accepted, and he pulled her into a standing position.

"Well?" she asked again, before slamming her mouth shut as a sniffle threatened to escape.

Ed opened his mouth and spent a few moments gaping like a fish. Apparently having no response, his mouth inched closed, before opening ever so slightly.

"Forget it." Hurt, Winry turned to leave.

She didn't make it far.

Ed (for it could only be him) grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Before even a breath of protest could make its way out of her lungs, his mouth was on hers, silencing all thought. His one arm moved around her waist to tug her closer, but was woefully inadequate, unleveraged, and unbalanced.

The wall at her back was an unexpected shock. She hadn't even been aware that they'd been moving backwards at all. A slight inhale of surprise was all it took for Ed to deepen the kiss, leaving no mistake in her mind as to the meaning behind all of it. Her hands made their way up to his loose, golden hair, intertwining and entangling in the strands and pulling him closer, tighter.

After what seemed like decades and seconds all rolled into one, he pulled away.

"I promise," he whispered harshly, breathing labored, "that I will always come back. Once I get Al's body back, nothing could keep me from you." He pressed his lips against hers again, a rough reminder. "Nothing."

This time it was her turn to gape like a beached fish.

Ed's eyes, which had gleamed with courage up to this point, now showed a glimmer of nerves. "Please say something," he pleaded.

And Winry, never one to leave others waiting, whispered "Okay."

* * *

Ed stood at the closed door for a moment, grinning like a fool before leaning his head against the wood. _I did it! I finally did it! _Nothing in the world could break his euphoric mood, his high from confessing his love and discovering it reciprocated.

"Warn me next time," came a shocked, metallic, childish voice from the corner.

Well, almost nothing.

* * *

**Review, it feeds the ever hungry muse.**

**Wryder**


End file.
